


Domestic Bliss

by Britpacker



Series: Life On Earth [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Marriage to a workaholic does have its benefits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This story has absolutely no narrative or social point: I simply wanted cossetting Trip and a whirlpool bath.  
>  Title borrowed from a review by tutkum - with many thanks for your kind words.

He heard the protesting screech of iron gates and the heavy tread of boots on the gravel drive long before the porch light flicked on, triggered by a hunched figure's sluggish movement. Wiping his hands on a tea towel Trip Tucker strode through the open kitchen door, his broad grin melting into a sympathetic sigh at the sight which greeted him in the hall. Windblown and bleary-eyed, Commander Malcolm Reed inched out of his coat as if the smallest movement hurt. 

By the tight set of his husband's shoulders, Trip suspected it probably did. Gently, he seized the edge of the unwanted garment and tugged. "You look beat, Mal."

"Appearances in this case are _not_ deceptive, love." Still, the slim brunet mustered a wry grin as he raised his face for a kiss. "Been home long?"

"Couple of hours." He'd gotten home while it was still light, pottered around the garden pulling out a few weeds, then settled down with the latest monthly engineering magazines, one ear cocked toward the street. "You fix the imbalance?"

"Possibly." Small furrows cut across the Brit's broad brow, his mind drawn back to the problematic phase pistol enhancement tests which had kept an entire department from its dinner. "The sims are still showing 50/50, but we were all going gozz-eyed staring at the same graphs for hours on end. Bollocks! It's my turn to cook, isn't it?"

"'s okay; I've fixed us a salad and some cold chicken an' ham."

" _Triip_ , you cooked last night." Reed puckered up his thin, well-shaped lips into an unwittingly adorable moue. Broad fingers carded softly through his disordered dark hair.

"I know darlin', but some of us work sensible hours and don't stumble home out on our feet." Loving Mal meant accepting his workaholic tendencies, which setting down roots on Earth had done nothing to diminish. "Now why dontcha come upstairs and get out of this uniform? I got a bubble bath waiting for y', then we can eat."

Stormcloud eyes widened with shock. "You shouldn't have waited for me," Malcolm groused, too weary to protest the confident manipulation of his drooping body in whatever direction his husband chose to go. "It's bad enough that I'm not here to cook for you when I should be..."

"Hey, slicin' up a chicken breast and some tomatoes and tossin' a few leaves isn't exactly _cooking_." It was as much as either of them could do confidently, but Trip knew better than to mention that. "Damn, you're tighter than a 'gator's ass! Now don't waste time: the water's good and hot."

Malcolm sniffed appreciatively as they neared the open bathroom door. "Sandalwood?" he asked hopefully, giving the abused shoulders a cautious roll while his husband set about his jumpsuit's fastenings. The Southerner's jaw split with a slow, cocky grin.

"Uh-huh," he affirmed, brushing his mouth across the newly-exposed collarbone. Reed's head fell back, long lashes sweeping down toward his cheekbones. "C'mon darlin', you'll feel better for a long soak and some food, I promise."

"Mmm, sounds lovely." Malcolm sagged into his spouse's chest as the taller man gently stripped him, half-lifting him into their large semi-circular corner tub through whorls of scented steam. Dense, velvety bubbles slid against his prickling flesh, the first sting of hot water pinking his milky skin. With the touch of a button Trip set the water swirling softly, a gentle massage for cramped muscles, and the Englishman moaned aloud. "Aaaah, a man could get used to this! Aren't you going to scrub my back?"

"I'm being polite, waitin' for an invitation, lover." When he creaked up heavy eyelids Malcolm was treated to the sight of a nude Tucker whose impressive physique showed signs of interest in more than a just quick soaping. "And am I gonna be limited t' _just_ your back?"

"You liked my back well enough last night," Reed replied, deliberately prissy until a guffaw spoiled the effect. Trip shrugged.

"Hey, don't blame me! It just gets nicer the lower down you get. Move over, willya?"

Obligingly Malcolm slid further around the curve of the tub, one arm flung out along the side to curl around his companion's broad shoulders. Their bodies rubbed together, the friction smoothed by creamy bubbles. Almost absently Malcolm increased the water pressure from the massage jets, letting the insistent flow pummel their submerged lengths. "I wasn't hungry anyway," he announced through a gigantic yawn.

"I know you can get past wanting food, but I _also_ 'spect you missed lunch, so you're eating after whether y' want to or not." The Jacuzzi system's jets worked over his lower body like a hundred caressing hands: even if he'd gotten past wanting his husband's delectable body (which Trip doubted was even possible) their efforts would have quickly revived that particular appetite. "Want some music?"

"Mmm... and drop the lighting a bit." The ceramic coldness of the tub mitigated by the warmth of water rolling around it, Malcolm let his head loll on his husband's strong shoulder as the hypnotic wail of Ravel's Bolero began to thrum around the humid room. "If this is the full version we're going to be shrivelled like a pair of ancient prunes by the end."

"We can get out any time you like, Mal." The repetitive thump underlying the melody; the slow build to a crashing climax... perfect music for lovers being gently pressed together by plashing waves of temperate, foamy water. He'd have to get home ahead of his husband more often, Trip figured, if all his bright ideas worked out this well. 

Keeping his movements slow and languid he stretched for a bar of creamy soap, working up a lather before smoothing his palms across the breadth of Malcolm's chest. "Mind if I start with your front this time?"

"Whatever - oh! - you want." Melting into those talented hands, Reed had forgotten the troublesome test data; wouldn't even have been able to find the correct setting on his beloved phase pistols. Of its own volition his body arched where it was bidden, soft whimpers of bliss escaping the corners of his puckered mouth when businesslike soaping turned into something more tender. 

Humming softly, Trip lifted cupped handfuls of water to dribble down his soapy torso before following the droplet trail with teeth and tongue. 

"Much cleaner now," he purred, tapping the powerful thigh that rubbed against his. "Lift?"

The pink tip of Malcolm's tongue slipped out but he didn't hesitate. Leaning against the support of his husband's chest, he carefully raised the required leg, holding it tense above the waterline. "Feel better doing this yourself?" the engineer suggested, feathering a lip-brush through the sable hair.

"Probably." More surprising than his partner's understanding, Malcolm considered, was his own lack of shame in accepting it. Drowning in the bath: such an absurd fear yet still, such was the grip of aquaphobia on his soul that sometimes, when he was thoroughly exhausted, he couldn't entirely dismiss it. 

Strong arms wrapped around him as he efficiently soaped one leg, then the other, splashing the offending limbs down with a child's delight. "My turn now?"

"Yep." A sappy grin splitting his sun-gilded features, the blond handed over his soap and sprawled bonelessly against the backrest, closing his eyes to savour the unpredictable brush of slippery hands on his flesh. "Told y' we needed a big bathroom."

"I don't remember arguing." Gently nuzzling the skin he had just washed, Malcolm plucked away his husband's wandering hands. "Bit more hot water, do you think?"

"Yeah." Floating on the warmth and the music, Trip would have agreed to an ice-shower suggested in that honeyed, crooning tone. "Y' all done with the soap, C'mmander?"

"Aye, Captain." The greased bar slipped between his hands and Malcolm ignored it, manipulating the glorious body beside him until he lay sprawled across it, his straining erection rubbing happily against its mate. Trip wriggled comfortably, strong arms rearing out of the water to hold the Brit's more compact frame in place as he slithered, one foot jammed into the right-angled corner of the tub opposite. Water sluiced over Reed's back, rising high enough to caress his shoulders.

Malcolm barely noticed the warming sensation.

The tempo of the music swirling around them increased, a drum roll almost drowning mutual groans of delight as one hand, then another, wormed between their plastered lengths. White-hot pleasure arced through his belly as Malcolm squirmed, oblivious to everything but the need to be closer, to drown in the raw heat radiating from his man. "Mmmm, love," he purred, dragging up his spinning head for an open-mouthed kiss.

The music rising to its crescendo; the water jets pulsing hot liquid around their lower bodies; the soft grunts against his ear as his lover responded oh, so beautifully, to every twitch and squeeze. Malcolm was on sensory overload, delicious tingles lancing from his core to every extremity. His free hand caught in the short fuzz of hair at Trip's nape, long fingers massaging firmly. The golden head lolled back, and he seized the opportunity to indulge another long, time-stopping kiss.

"Wanna come darlin'," Trip slurred over his questing tongue, using his unoccupied arm to hold their floating forms more closely. His hips jerked hard, making the bath's contents slap their hyper-stimulated flesh like a dozen extra pairs of titillating hands. Their soaked chest hairs snagged together and the air grew thick with their wet panting breaths. "So good Malcolm, gotta come, please... lemme come now."

"Yes love." Wide stormy eyes held the passion-glazed stare of midnight blue, a ring of brilliant colour around dilated pupils. Trip's head threshed, his eyes rolling back as the tidal wave of climax seized him, the spurt of his seed dissolving in the warm water that embraced them. Malcolm dropped his head, his own groan of bliss muffled into the crook of his husband's neck as the sweet rush of rapture broke through his body.

The music had fallen silent when he next raised his drowsy eyes, tenderness clamping like a metal fist around his heart at the picture of slack-jawed delight before them. "We should probably get out now," he murmured, not surprised the hand that came up to touch that lovely face was trembling. His husband whimpered softly.

"Feel too good t' move," he slurred, protected, Malcolm guessed, from the encroaching tepidity of the bathwater by the same kind of gentle heat that warmed his own belly. "You feel too good, darlin'."

"I feel bloody marvellous, thanks to you." Once he'd noticed the water temperature however, the annoying pragmatist in Reed wouldn't allow him to loll around ignoring it. "Come on. Towels on the rack?"

"Warmin' up for us." Reluctantly Tucker opened one eye, his resentment at being tugged from their sensual haze softened by the tranquil set of the fine, angular features before him. "We'd better get that salad out of the fridge before going to bed."

"As if I'd let your culinary labours go to waste." His stomach grumbled obligingly and, knowing it amused his partner, Malcolm exaggerated his affronted harrumph. He stood abruptly, gooseflesh breaking out all over at the kiss of air on skin as he stretched for the two large fluffy white towels Trip had left heating on the rack, holding one up in readiness for his lover. "You spoil me, Mister Tucker."

"'s called loving you, Mister Reed, and it's the easiest job in the galaxy." His heart melted every time Mal gave him that shy peep from under downcast lashes, the one that still said _I don't know what I ever did to deserve you_. Oblivious to the sudden chill Trip stood and clambered cautiously over the edge of the tub, enfolding the hand Malcolm offered in an ardent grip. "Ready to eat?"

Malcolm reached for his silk dressing gown, a throaty purr of pleasure escaping as the decadent fabric connected with his damp flesh. "Considering you went to so much trouble to cook for me, darling, it'd be rude not to," he simpered, laughing outright at his husband's theatrical grimace. "Honestly though, you've got to let _me_ do the cosseting sometime!"

"Anytime you want, gorgeous." Wrapping his long blue robe around himself Trip Tucker trailed downstairs to the kitchen in his husband's wake silently congratulating himself on a job well done. Not only was Malcolm so chilled he'd probably struggle to identify his favourite phase pistol in a pile of pig shit, but he'd gotten himself a promise of some serious indulgence to look forward to.

Not a bad return for five minutes in the kitchen and fifteen trips upstairs to keep the bath from overflowing!


End file.
